Hurdles
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series, the tag for 'Provenance', 1x19. Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'Provenance', it belongs to Eric Kripke and David Erhman.**

****Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)****

* * *

><p>"I'm telling you, man, I'm sure of it!" Sam insists. "Painting at the auction house, Dad is looking down. Painting here, Dad's lookin' up! The painting has changed, Dean!"<p>

"Alright, so you think that, uh, Daddy Dearest is trapped in the painting and he's handin' out Columbian Neckties like he did with his family?"

"Well yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted, then how're we gonna stop him?"

"Alright, well, if Isaiah's position changed, then maybe some other things in the painting changed as well. You know, it could give us some clues."

"What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?"

"I don't know, I'm still waitin' for the movie on that one," Dean jokes. "Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting. Which is a good thing, cause you can get s'more time to crush on your girlfriend."

"Dude, enough already!" Sam snaps, finally reaching the end of his rope – passing the point where Dean's teasing is something he can put up with.

"What?" Dean asks, feigning innocence.

"What?" Sam repeats. "Ever since we got here you've been trying to pimp me out to Sarah! Just back off, alright?"

"Well you like her, don't you?"

Sam throws his hands up in frustration and doesn't answer.

"Alright, you like her, she likes you, you're both consenting adults."

"What's the point, Dean? We'll just leave! We always leave!"

"Well, I'm not talking about marriage, Sam!"

"Y'know, I don't get it! What do you care if I hook up?"

"'Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time," Dean retorts with a self-satisfied smirk on his face that makes Sam want to punch it off. "You know, seriously, Sam, this isn't about just hooking up, okay? I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you. And I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm sure that this is about Jessica, right?"

Sam looks up, looks over at the sincere expression on Dean's face, and suddenly he feels like puking. He really doesn't know why Dean's doing this, why he's pretending like the last few months never happened. All he knows is that it hurts. And he's getting tired of Dean making him feel like crap almost as often as he makes him feel good.

"Now, I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that, but … I would think that she would want you to be happy. God forbid have fun once in a while," Dean continues, and tears burn behind Sam's eyes. "Wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, I know she would," Sam answers softly, unexpectedly sad at the possibility that she's looking down on him from where ever she is and seeing the kind of person he's turned into without her; seeing him with Dean and wondering whether he ever really loved her at all. He's more happy than he could say to have Dean back in his life – well, most of time he is, definitely not right now, though – but he still hates that Jess had to die for it to happen. "Yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part."

"What's it about?" Dean asks, like he really doesn't know, and Sam is half a breath away from losing it. He doesn't answer and Dean rolls his eyes and leans back on the mattress. "Yeah, alright. Well, we still gotta see that painting which means you still gotta call Sarah, so."

Sam reluctantly picks up his phone and dials her number.

"Hello?" she answers on the first ring.

"Sarah, hey, it's Sam," he says.

"Oh, hi!" she cries excitedly. "How are you?"

"Hey, hi. Good, yeah," Sam stutters. "Um, what about you?"

"I'm great. You sure you're alright? You seemed weird earlier."

"Yeah, good. Really good," Sam answers while Dean rolls his eyes again and whispers, "Smooth."

"So, uh, so listen. Me and my brother, we're thinking that maybe we'd like to come back in and look at the painting again? I think maybe we are interested in buying it."

Sarah scoffs in irritation. "My dad sold it this afternoon. Can you believe that? After he promised me he wouldn't."

Sam's heart leaps into his throat. "Wait, what? Who'd you sell it to?"

"Uh, her name is Evelyn."

"Sarah, I need an address right now."

"You – what? Why?"

"Please, it's important," Sam insists. "She could be in danger, please."

"I … um, alright," Sarah says uncertainly. "She lives on Port Street, number sixteen I think."

Sam hangs up on her without even saying goodbye.

* * *

><p>"So."<p>

"So what?" Dean asks, dropping his bag down on the table and absently rummaging through it.

The motel room Dean found them is sort of on the small side, although it's by far not the worst they've ever had. It might have made more sense to just stay put where they were while they looked for their next hunt, but Sam wanted to get the hell out of New York as quickly as he could. Mostly because the taste of Sarah's lipstick is still lingering on his lips when he licks them, and it's making him nauseous. He shouldn't have kissed her. He doesn't even really know why he did. It was more a reflex than anything else – he didn't _want_ to kiss her, he just sort of wanted to piss Dean off after the way he's been acting. But now he regrets it. Sure, she was pretty and nice and kinda cool or whatever, but it isn't like Sam ever really wanted her. She wasn't his type, she … well, she wasn't Dean. Not even close. That's really all Sam needed to know.

They drove in total silence for almost an hour after they left her on the steps of the auction house, but it wasn't the tension thick silence Sam was expecting. _He_ was tense, so tense the muscles in his neck and shoulders are still cramping, but Dean just hummed along to the radio and tapped his fingers to the beat on the steering wheel and acted like he was totally fine. More than anger, Sam's _hurt_ by everything Dean said and everything Dean did during this hunt, and that he didn't seem bothered at all by watching Sam kiss someone else. If their positions were reversed, Sam would've been crushed. And the fact that Dean _isn't_ crushed is making Sam's chest constrict painfully and his racing mind draw all kinds of horrible conclusions about the hidden meanings in all of this. Like, maybe the reason Dean could never tell Sam he loved him in return is because he doesn't. Maybe he never did.

After the fiasco in Missouri and everything that happened with Cassie, Sam really thought they were done with stuff like this. He thought they'd done a good job of airing out their old issues and insecurities and hurt feelings, and that they'd come to an understanding about what they mean to each other. As horrible as he felt when he found out Dean cheated on him, he thought after they'd finished fighting and making up, their bond was stronger than ever. Sam really thought he'd made it clear that what they have is important to him and that he isn't about to just up and leave for no reason. He thought he'd finally gotten Dean to understand that he doesn't have to keep protecting himself by keeping Sam at arms length. Apparently, he was wrong.

"Are we gonna talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" Dean echoes, and Sam has to resist a sudden urge to bash his stupid brother's head in.

"You're really gonna do this? You're really gonna pretend all that shit with Sarah didn't happen?" Sam asks, the anger and hurt from before bubbling back up in his chest. "So, like, are we not together anymore and you just forgot to tell me?"

Dean frowns. "'Course we're still together."

"Well then what the hell, Dean?" Sam explodes. "This has got to stop!"

"What does?"

"All this stupid, insecure game playing! I can't keep doing this!"

"What are you even talking about?" Dean cries in frustration.

Sam glares at him. Really, Dean's lucky Sam isn't a violent person by nature. 'Cause at the moment, Sam mostly just feels like breaking Dean's nose. "Oh don't do that, you know exactly what I'm talking about! Do you not care at _all_ that I kissed her?"

"Why would I care?" Dean asks, with this look all over his face like Sam's an idiot for even asking.

"You don't care," Sam repeats, his insides twisting into knots with how much that hurts. Dean might as well have just stabbed him. Sam sort of hates him right now. And he hates himself even more for actually believing things would be different with Dean this time. "God, when I found out you slept with Cassie? It was like this giant hole got ripped out of my chest! I was so freakin' angry, and hurt and devastated, and back there you just stood there and watched me make out with her and you felt _nothing_? We're supposed to mean more to each other then that!"

"Oh for the love of – it was just a kiss, Sam! It's not like you knocked her up!"

"Yeah, I know that! But even just a kiss should've – I don't know, affected you _somehow_! I mean, at least a little bit!" Sam storms. "We are not _casual_, Dean! We are not, have never been, and will never be two guys who just fuck because it's convenient! As much as you try to play it off like we're not, we are in a relationship! A _real_ one, with feelings and everything! And sooner or later you're going to have to come to terms with that and figure out how to deal with it, without sleeping with your ex-girlfriends and trying to set me up with every chick we meet!"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Alright, calm down, drama queen."

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Sam snaps. "I don't know what the hell kinda game you were playing the last few days, but it wasn't cool! The fact that you were trying to hook me up with her, and that'd you actually bring Jess into it? Like _she's_ the reason I wouldn't have sex with Sarah? That was over the line. Even for you."

"I just – I thought you liked her, okay?" Dean says, sighing exhaustedly and scrubbing a hand over his face. "And she totally liked you too. There was this, I don't know, _spark_ between you. I thought maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing for you to see where it goes."

Sam frowns deeply, shaking his head in complete and utter confusion and disbelief. Dean might as well be speaking a different language right now. Individually, Sam understands the words, but strung together in that particular order, Sam doesn't have a clue what Dean's talking about. "That … that doesn't make any sense. I … you have to give me more then that, Dean, I need you to explain this to me! I mean, you made me take her out to dinner, and then you tricked me into going back to the auction house, you did pretty much everything except pick her up right off the ground and dump her on my bed! What the hell was that about? Do you _want_ me to sleep with other people?"

Dean doesn't answer, he won't even look at Sam, and god, Sam could just throttle him.

"Dean!" he yells, and Dean flinches and then heaves another heavy sigh.

"She was just … so … _you_!" he bursts out, throwing his hands up in the air and pacing agitatedly away from Sam. "She was all smart and classy and sophisticated, pretty much everything I'm not! She was exactly the kind of person you deserve to be with! And it isn't fair that I hold you back so much! You deserve more than being stuck here with me in this life that you hate!"

Sam blinks, frowning even more now that the particular brand of self-loathing Dean is prone to is rearing its ugly head. Sam hates it, _hates_ it, when his brother puts himself down; when Dean only focuses on his shortcomings and refuses to see how utterly amazing he actually is. "Is that what this is about? You think you're not good enough for me? You didn't know the word provenance so you think that means you're not smart?"

Again, Dean doesn't answer, but his shoulders tense up and that's all the confirmation Sam needs to know he's right on the money.

"There are tons of different kinds of intelligence, Dean!" Sam cries. "Knowing a bunch of big words doesn't mean shit, any idiot can get their hands on a dictionary and look up whatever words they want! Yeah, so, you don't know anything about art. Who the hell cares? You outsmart supernatural pieces of crap all the time, hell, you _made_ an EMF meter out of an old walkman! How many people do you know who could've done that?"

"Sammy," Dean mumbles, still not turning around to face Sam and trailing off with a few more words Sam doesn't quite catch.

"I didn't like her," Sam insists, but Dean scoffs.

"Yes you did," he says evenly. "And that's okay, Sam. You should be allowed to like her, you should be allowed to meet girls and go on dates and have relationships that aren't completely fucked and twisted like ours is. I know you don't like hunting, you never have, but I still dragged you back into it with me. And you stick around because you're a good person, but god, I don't want you only staying with me because you feel like you have to! Like you're obligated because we're family or whatever."

Sam's head spins with how sad it makes him that Dean actually thinks that. He really, really wishes Dean would look at him, because even though he can't see himself, Sam's pretty sure the look on his face right now would convince Dean how wrong he is, more than words ever could. "Dean, that's … no. That's not why, you have to know that's not why. Look, she … she was really nice. Cool. She's the kind of person I'd wanna be with if I wasn't with you. But I _am_ with you. That's the point you don't seem to be getting, here, man. Nobody's twisting my arm. If I didn't wanna be with you, then I wouldn't be. But I am, so … I just, I don't understand why that's so hard for you to believe."

Dean takes a small glance over his shoulder at Sam, and the look on his brother's face nearly slices Sam's heart right in two. He looks a little sad, maybe, but mostly he looks doubtful – like no matter what Sam says or does, he'll never really believe that Sam won't run off one day with some girl and leave him behind. Sam collapses down onto the edge of the mattress, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees and lets his head fall lax between his hunched shoulders. There are tears sizzling behind his eyelids again but they won't even fall. He's beyond sad at this point, he's just lost and dejected and hopeless. He's barely looked at anyone but Dean since they started back up again, he gave himself to Dean, he told Dean he loves him – Sam really doesn't know what else he can do to make Dean believe in him, in _them_.

Slowly, Dean makes his way over to sit next to Sam. Sam hears the soft footsteps and then feels when the mattress dips beside him. They aren't quite touching, but he can just barely feel the heat from Dean's body radiating into his arm and thigh.

"Did you notice that I hesitated before I told her you were my brother?" Sam asks quietly.

"What?"

"When we first met her, at the gallery. I was introducing you, I paused before I said 'brother'."

"So what?"

"So, the reason I did that was because I almost said 'boyfriend'," Sam says, his voice breaking on the last word.

Dean's eyebrows move together and his eyes narrow in uncertainty. "You – why?"

"Because that's what you _are_, Dean. Whether you like it or not, that's what we are. And I almost told her that because I didn't feel like watching you hit on her right in front of me. I wanted her to know you were taken."

"Does it bother you when I do that?"

"Not really," Sam says honestly, "'long as I know you aren't gonna do anything. But that's another thing. You've been all over a girl in a bar while I'm standing right there and I still know you're only coming home with me, but I smile at one and you go nuts and start trying to convince me to hook up with her? That's messed up, Dean. If this is gonna work, you're gonna have to trust me a little more than that." Sam _could_ point out that out of the two of them, he's the only one that _hasn't_ slept with anyone else while they were together, but that wouldn't help anything so he keeps his mouth shut.

"I'm sorry," Dean mutters, but Sam shakes his head firmly; much too hurt at this point to just let it go.

"That's not good enough. I need you to explain this to me, I need to know why you did it."

"I just …" Dean exhales heavily and leans over to rest his forehead on his hands. Sam only caught a glimpse of his eyes before he hid them, but there was something in them, something like honesty, vulnerability, that Sam's only seen a few times in his life. Dean hardly ever lets his walls down like this. It's unnerving. When Dean speaks, his voice is hoarse and shaky, like he's terrified of the words coming out of his own mouth. "You mean … everything, to me. I can't even tell you how much. Not because I don't want to, because I _can't_. It's too big. Those words, the ones I'm supposed to be able to say … they're not enough. Not even close. But then I see a pretty girl lookin' at you, interested in you, and I just … I lose it, Sammy. I start thinkin', maybe you'd be happy with this chick. Happier than you are with me. I start feelin' like I'm being selfish, keeping you with me when maybe you could have a better life with someone else. Someone who can give you all the things that I can't."

"Things like what?" Sam asks softly; sadly. He's a little floored by Dean's confession, but he still needs to know. "Like a house? Kids? A mortgage and a beer gut? I don't _want_ all those things, Dean. I just want you. None of that other stuff would mean a damn thing anyway if I didn't have you."

Dean just shrugs and turns away, but Sam slides off the bed down onto his knees and pushes into Dean's space, into the v of his legs so he can grab Dean's arms and force him to stay. Dean's eyes are wet when he looks back at Sam, and he looks like he's furious with himself, and Sam hates it.

"Please," he begs pathetically, reaching one hand up to cup Dean's cheek and rubbing his thumb over the wetness under Dean's left eye. "Please don't shut me out."

Sniffing just a little, Dean slumps over and rests his forehead against Sam's, his fingers curing around Sam's ribcage. "I'm trying," he breathes. "I really am, Sammy. But you … you left once. You left _me_. And I … I wanna believe that you won't do it again. I do. But it's hard. Part of me wants to trust you but the other part wants to protect myself from you, so I don't get hurt again."

Sam sighs. Everything, every problem they've had, seems to keep coming back to that. It almost doesn't feel like it's worth getting into it again, seems like that might just be one of those things they can never reconcile. Sam wasn't leaving _Dean_, he was leaving hunting. But no matter how many times he says that, he still can't get Dean to believe it. Sam's not sure if he'll ever be able to.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, wrapping his arms around Dean's back and pulling Dean down into his chest. "I really am. I wasn't leaving you. I _hated_ leaving you. I love you, Dean. I did then and I do now. And just because I had a connection with Sarah doesn't mean I ever wanted her like that. The only person I want is you, okay? You just … you gotta at least _try_ to believe in me. "

Dean nods, his forehead rubbing against Sam's shoulder. There's so much more Sam wants to say, but since he was a little kid he's been able to read Dean's body language, to hear all the things Dean doesn't say, and he can tell they're done talking about this, at least for now. Dean's already given a lot, and if Sam pushes for more Dean will close up ranks and they'll end up yelling at each other again. Sam doesn't want that, so for now, he's willing to let this go.

He kisses Dean's neck a few times, until Dean lifts his head up and lets Sam press their lips together. He keeps it soft and reassuring for the first few minutes, just brushing his lips back and forth against Dean's and dragging his fingertips through the short hairs at the nape of Dean's neck. Dean hands tighten in Sam's shirt, gripping the material as if he's trying to keep Sam close – as if Sam had any intention of moving away. He wasn't lying before; Sarah was pretty and smart and interesting and all that, but the only one Sam wants like this is Dean. Even if something had happened between him and her, even if it was amazing it still wouldn't measure up to what he has with Dean.

Sliding his hands up under the hem of Sam's shirt, Dean deepens the kiss, petting his tongue over the seam of Sam's lips, and Sam opens up for him automatically, drawing Dean's tongue into his mouth and swirling his own around it. Sam kisses him, sucking at his lips and letting Dean taste his mouth all he wants, until they have to pull apart to breathe. Dean gasps raggedly into Sam's mouth, digging his short nails into Sam's lower back. Sam only takes a breath or two and then he moves back in, nipping along Dean's jaw and nuzzling into the skin under his ear. Dean sighs happily, kissing Sam's cheek wetly and getting his other hand up into his hair so he can angle Sam's head back again and kiss him deeply.

"Want you to fuck me," he murmurs into Sam's lips, and Sam can't help the gasp of surprise he lets out.

He pulls back enough to look up into Dean's eyes. "You … what?"

Dean just smiles shyly and shrugs, like he's too self-conscious to say it again, and Sam's eyebrows stitch together.

"You don't have to do that," he says quietly.

"Do what?" Dean asks, cocking his head to the side in confusion.

"You said you were sorry, about the stuff with Sarah. I forgive you, alright? You don't need to make it up to me. Not with that." Sam drags the backs of his knuckles over Dean's cheek. He knows what a big deal it is for Dean to surrender control like that. It's not the first time Dean's ever been on the bottom, but it is the first time since Sam's been back from school, and he doesn't want it to happen by way of an apology. It should happen when Dean really wants it.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Oh, would you – it's not that."

Sam raises an eyebrow and Dean huffs good-naturedly and nods a little, reluctantly.

"Okay, maybe it is. A little. Not totally, though, okay? I wouldn't ask if I didn't want it. I just … wanna … I don't know. Show you that I _do_ trust you. That I get jealous and I lose it sometimes, but that I still …"

"What?" Sam asks gently, bringing Dean back down to rest their foreheads together again.

"That I feel about you what you said you feel about me."

Sam has to blink back tears again, not of sadness this time but of how overwhelming that all is. He's not going to argue, though. If Dean wants to give him this, wants to show Sam how he feels because he can't say it, there's no way Sam could say no. He surges up and kisses him again, pushing Dean back onto the mattress and crawling over him while Dean awkwardly shuffles up enough to rest his head on the pillows. He swirls his tongue around in Dean's mouth, tasting every inch of it, while he grinds his hips down into Dean's, his quickly filling erection rubbing against Dean's. Dean moans quietly into Sam's mouth, hands palming Sam's ass and encouraging him to move faster until Sam can't take it anymore – has to get them both naked immediately or he's going to lose the small amount of self-control he still possesses at this point.

He reluctantly pushes up off his brother, stripping his clothes off as quickly as he can and watching intently as Dean does the same. Dean's hands slip a few times on the button of his own jeans, and Sam helps him get them off, smiling down at him as reassuringly as he can. Even though Dean said he wants this, Sam knows it's still a big deal. It's still not something Dean would ever give to anyone else – he'd never feel comfortable enough with anyone else to let himself be this vulnerable with them. In a way, that ups the pressure on Sam to make it good, but in another way, it's kind of sweet. And it's something Sam takes really seriously; like this is the one area of their lives where it's _his_ job to take care of _Dean_, to protect him, make him feel safe and loved and all those other things Dean's spent his life doing for Sam.

Once he gets the last of Dean's clothes off and grabs the lube from his duffle bag, Sam settles back down with his brother, half on top of him, and kisses his forehead. Dean blinks up at him, expression a mix of nervousness and want, and Sam kisses over his brow and nose until he reaches his lips. He trails his fingers, feather-light, down Dean's chest and abs, petting through the soft hairs below Dean's naval to where his hard cock is resting against his abdomen. He plays with it a little while he kisses Dean; not stroking at all, really, just touching, exploring with his fingers while his tongue explores Dean's mouth. He slides the heel of his palm down the underside of the shaft, and then he cups Dean's balls in his palm and squeezes them, and Dean groans loudly into Sam's lips.

Sam looks up, and there's so much love and trust in Dean's lust-blackened eyes that for a moment it's hard for Sam to catch his breath. He picks up the tube of clear gel and pours some of it into his hand, forcing himself to keep going because any minute now the rational side of his brain is going to decide that this is too much – too big, too serious, too important – and chicken out. And Sam knows that isn't what either of them want, or need. He rubs the gel between his fingertips to warm it up and then reaches down between Dean's legs to pet gently at the puckered hole. Dean hisses and tenses up a little on instinct, but then moans and relaxes again when Sam's other hand brushes lightly over his leaking erection. Sam rubs his finger against the tiny opening a few times; not applying any pressure, but just stroking softly until Dean's body remembers that he used to like this, and relaxes.

"Sammy," Dean sighs happily, pushing back just a little on Sam's hand.

Still licking at Dean's mouth, Sam circles his fingers around the burning hardness in his other palm and gets a slow, easy rhythm going up and down Dean's cock – enough to effectively distract Dean from the finger pushing into his body.

"Shit," he mutters against Dean's mouth. He'd almost forgotten how much he enjoyed this.

Sam lets his finger move fluidly in and out of Dean a few times; it's so searingly hot and smooth and so fucking tight that Sam has no idea how he's going to keep his cool long enough to actually get his dick in there – especially since said dick seems to be seriously considering packing up and leaving if it doesn't get some friction right-the-fuck-now. Sam wants to take this as slow as possible, make it good for Dean, but his hand pulls back of its own accord and adds a second finger before his brain is even aware of what it's doing. Luckily, Dean doesn't seem to mind too much – he moans appreciatively and rocks down onto Sam's fingers. The slight change in angle makes Sam's fingertip brush against that firm nub of nerve endings inside Dean, and Dean swears loudly and arches up into Sam's touch. His entire back bows off the bed and then collapses back down in a mass of sweat and harsh panting.

"Dammit, Sam, please, fuck, hurry the hell up, not gonna last much longer," he mumbles, almost incoherently.

The small part of Sam's brain that can still register conscious thought spares a few seconds to wish he had a video camera – being able to relive having Dean gasping and pleading for it like this would be such fantastic jerk-off material that he'd probably never need to actually have sex again. It's so damn hot Sam is starting to seriously doubt whether he'll last or not. For good measure, and because he loves Dean with all his heart and soul and would _never_ want to hurt him, Sam pushes in with a third finger for a few minutes. Dean is so damn _soft_ on the inside, and he's so exposed and vulnerable right now that Sam can feel his chest swelling at the sheer trust he knows it takes for Dean to give himself up like this. His dick is leaking onto Dean's thigh and Sam's mind is so far gone that the room is literally spinning in his blurred vision, but he somehow manages to twist and scissor his fingers enough so that when he finally pulls them back, Dean is loose and pliant and making these beautiful, whimpery little noises in the back of his throat.

"C'mon, _fuck_, want you," Dean pleads, groaning at the loss of Sam's fingers and spurting a generous amount of pre-come onto his belly when Sam leans down and licks a hot stripe up his erection.

Sam laps up the salty liquid from where it's clumping in the golden hairs below Dean's bellybutton, and then he takes his own erection into his hand; wrapping his thumb and forefinger around the base and squeezing tightly so he doesn't come from just the sight of Dean so debauched and strung out. Dean is the kind of person who is _always_ in charge of every situation, so seeing him so far out of control and so completely at Sam's mercy is quite possibly the hottest thing Sam's ever seen. He probably _could_ come from just the view alone, but he takes a few deep breaths and shakily reminds himself that something much better is coming.

"You okay?" Sam asks, because as far gone as he is he's also hard-wired to always want to please his big brother, and he just has to be sure.

"Yes!" Dean fires back. "Shit, Sam, do it already!"

Sam somehow manages to force out a ridiculously aroused laugh, and then he slicks himself up and lines up to Dean's entrance and pushes in slowly.

It's unbelievably good; it's scorching and snug and on some level Sam knows he should be stopping to give Dean a moment to adjust but it's taking every ounce on control he has to do it. Dean's eyes are closed and his brow furrowed, so Sam waits, rocking shallowly until Dean blows out a heavy breath and nods for him to keep going. He works himself in slowly, Dean breathing coming in little hitches that sound halfway between pleasure and pain, until he finally bottoms out. Being buried completely in Dean's yielding, tight heat is almost more then Sam can handle, and he has to force his lungs to breathe deeply and his brain to calm the fuck down before he blows his entire load on the first thrust.

"Holy fuck, Sam," Dean grinds out, harsh and breathy, and then he opens his eyes and Sam is met by forest green irises so full of desire that it's all he can do not to pin Dean to the bed and shove in hard enough to break him.

"Tell me when." Sam somehow manages to force the words past his lips, and he leans down to lick desperately at Dean's lips and hope that Dean is ready for him to move really fuckin' soon because Sam isn't gonna last all that much longer.

"Now, go!" Dean moans, pushing back against Sam again, except now it's about a million times better than when it was just his fingers.

Sam pulls himself slowly out and then inches in all the way to the hilt, and his needy moan is echoed from the warm body below him.

"So good, Dean," Sam breathes, gathering momentum and starting up a steady rhythm, in and out of Dean's slick, supple warmth.

Nothing has _ever _been as good as this is, not even Jessica. Sam loved her, he really did, but even still – she felt great but she was the _wrong_ heat, the _wrong_ pliable velvetiness. The only thing that's ever felt right to Sam is Dean. Sam pushes up further onto his knees and thrusts in harder, and the slight change of position has Dean bucking and swearing as Sam crashes into Dean's prostate. Sam gets a shaky hand between them and wraps it around Dean's cock, stroking mostly in time with his thrusts, and Dean grabs his face and pulls it down to kiss him. The position is awkward and they're sort of plastered together, but Sam loves it. Loves being this close to Dean, being so wrapped up in him that he forgets which parts are Dean's and which are his own.

Somewhere between some of the best ecstasy he's ever felt, Sam manages to have sparing thoughts about being proud to have reduced his sex-savvy big brother to moans and lust-starved whines, but most of Sam's brain is concentrated on how amazing it feels to have Dean clenched around him. And yeah, it feels fucking _amazing_.Sam drives in as hard as he can manage in his sex-hazy state, barely registering the completely ridiculous sounds coming out of his own mouth – and out of Dean's too. Needy moans and the vulgar slapping of flesh is all Sam can hear beyond the blood rushing in his head, and his whole body feels like it's condensed into his dick – moving maddeningly in and out of compressed heat.

All too soon, Sam feels every damn muscle in his chest and legs tense and overheat and then explode out through his cock. He cries out Dean's name and shoots his release into his big brother's channel that slicks his erratic thrusts in a way lube never quite can. He pumps recklessly a few times into Dean's body, and then nearly blacks out when he feels the incredible sensation of Dean clamping around him. Dean's walls tense and release in rapid succession, and then noisy, uninhibited grunts are spilling from Dean's mouth as his dick twitches crudely and spurts milky white streams across his clenching stomach. Sam rocks shallowly into Dean a few times and then his elbows give out and he collapses heavily onto Dean's chest. He pants deeply for a moment, as short of breath and lightheaded as if he's just run a mile uphill, and Dean's rising and falling chest mimics Sam's.

He lies there for a while in the blissful warmth, until his arms start to fall asleep, and then he lifts his hips to pull out of Dean's body, slowly and sympathetically because he hates this part when their positions are reversed – the second Dean pulls out Sam always feels cold and empty and wants him back in. Then he rolls over onto his back and tugs Dean with him, his brother's body heavy and sleepy next to his. He wants to say something, ask Dean if he's okay, if they're okay, anything really, but Dean must sense it because he flicks Sam's arm and tells him to shut up before Sam manages to get a single word out.

Sam shakes his head and chuckles, pulling Dean in just a little closer. "Okay," he murmurs into the top of Dean's sweaty head. He closes his eyes and inhales the musky smell of sweat and Dean and _them_, and lets it lull him to sleep.

* * *

><p>Sam doesn't know what time it is when he wakes up with his bladder screaming at him, but when he gets back from the bathroom, Dean is sitting up in the bed and blinking blearily in the darkness. There's a little frown on his face that Sam can barely make out in the almost non-existent light from the window, and he hurries back to Dean's side. Dean looks up at him, his eyes blank like he barely recognizes Sam, and Sam touches his arm gently.<p>

"Dean?" he asks uncertainly. "What's wrong?"

"Sammy?" Dean asks, his words slurred, and Sam's not sure anymore whether Dean's actually fully awake or not.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Oh." Dean sniffs and blinks again like he's trying to get his eyes to focus. "You're here."

"'Course I'm here, where else would I be?"

"Woke up and you were gone," Dean mumbles, lying back down against the pillows and closing his eyes.

"M'right here, Dean," Sam promises softly, lying down with him and wrapping his arms around Dean's sleepy body.

"Kay," Dean whispers, snuggling into Sam's chest so the word is smeared into his collarbone, and now Sam's positive his brother isn't completely awake. He'll be surprised if Dean remembers this at all in the morning.

Even still, it sort of breaks his heart a little bit. Sam always knew Dean had abandonment issues, a whole truck-load of them, but maybe they're worse than Sam thought. Dean gave up a big piece of himself tonight, he took a huge step, relinquishing control and letting Sam see a side of him that no one else gets to see. It hurts deep in Sam's chest to think of Dean waking up alone in the middle of the night and thinking, even for a second, that maybe Sam had taken what he wanted and then left. He holds Dean as tight as he can, rubbing his palm comfortingly up and down Dean's back – although Dean's soft, even breathing probably means he's passed out again – and swears to himself that he'll do whatever it takes to keep all the promises he made to Dean tonight. He's never leaving again. He knows it for sure now.


End file.
